Behind Blue Eyes
by An-Optomistic-Suicide
Summary: Because, really...It was just Axel's luck that he'd get the newest crazy. It was just Cloud's luck that his boss and his best friend were having a war over him. And it was just Roxas' luck that no one found out sooner. AkuRoku, SephClouZack, and others.
1. Chapter 1 : A Dwelling Place for Demons

Main Pairings (for now): AkuRoku, SephCloudZack

Input is appreciated.

* * *

He shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be doing this.

Because it's sinful, sinful, sinful and weуre tainted, tainted, tainted. And I know that he can feel the disease wind up through his fingers, because he's _painting_ my skin with them, trying to cover the once pristine canvas with that swirling, whirling mass of sickening _passion_. And it's not allowed, it's bad, it's taboo, and we're not supposed to. Not.  
Sup-  
-Posed.  
To!

Ah, _oh_, whatever God there may be, forgive us. Forgive him. Because we're not supposed to. But we are. We are. We ARE.  
"Roxas..." he whispers to me, hand sliding up my thigh, and I feel the sickness twist _up_ the sickly pale flesh there, but oh, it's so good. And so intoxicating. And so addictive, addictive, addictive.

And my arms are _twisting_ inside of the cotton cloth, and I wish I would stop shaking, but I won't. Because that's part of the sickness. And he's concerned because I'm mumbling all these things to him under my breath, but it doesn't matter. Because he's here and I'm here and the disease can't wait, so would he hurry up, please? I want to feel (**FEEL**, DO YOU HEAR ME?!) before the ladies and lads in their infuriating pureness come back and make it coil back _inside_ me.

They poke through my skin just the same. Punctured and penetrated, I'm still shaking just as bad as when he and I share the sickness like this, only they never fill the hole inside, and they never, never, never _placate_ the thing that feeds on the sickness. They never help. Their needles never help.  
Never, never, never.

Because they don't let it **FEED** and they don't let me **FEEL**, and GOD, PLEASE, RIGHT _**THERE**_. And he does and it happens and feels Oh So NICE!

Now I look up and _moan_, and my back _arches_, and he _knows_, and he _feels_, too. It only lasts a little while, because there are things to do and people to see, but I know that he'll be back. Because he hisses, hisses, hisses my name too fervently, bruises my lips with the deadly, deadly, deadly kisses too much to ever, ever leave me here. So he redoes our clothes and takes another look at me, and I almost feel worse than I already do. Because besides being tainted, tainted, tainted, his gaze is now guilty, guilty, guilty. Because he knows he's _feeding _my monster, and he knows that we're damned, damned, DAMNED.  
And I _laugh_ as he leaves, still shaking.

Because the nurses were outside the door the whole time.

* * *

"Did you hear about the new kid in cell thirteen?" Larxene whispers to me conspiratorially, a gleam in her emerald eyes. I turn to her only slightly, careful not to attract the attention of our superior, Vexen. She and I are doctors at this little asylum in the middle of nowhere- we joke around, calling it the Place That Never Was.

It's morning, so we're busy filling out our patient's prescriptions and getting ready to see to another cheerful day of making sure that they don't fuck themselves up any further. "No, seriously, Ax'. I hear he's a knockout. Turns out that Marluxia couldn't even keep his hands off of the kid for one night." That gains her a raised eyebrow from me.  
It's not that Marluxia is known for his self-control (or-come to think of it- any straight persuasions, though Larxene swears to me that they dated for a few months), but he's usually professional enough to keep it in his pants for the patients.  
Usually.  
"Uh-huh. Did the kid scream or something?" I ask, flipping through the thick stack of stale-smelling patient's charts. A Cheshire grin spreads across her face, rosy lips of her mouth tugged back. The expression is slightly too big for her heart shaped face, but her green eyes are still glittering in a way that makes the proportion seem right.

I eye her carefully. "What happened?" "One of the nurses overheard him." She hums. I try not to let the shock show through. I succeed on my face...Not in my voice.  
"A-and the new kid just went along with it?" I stutter. She nods sagely, turning her head on her shoulder. "He's a nymphomaniac, Ax'." Larxene giggles in a vaguely unsettling way. "And totally schizo, to boot." "R-really, now? What do we know about-" I'm cut off when Vexen (our superior and Larxene's big brother) interjects. "His name is Roxas Strife, little brother to a mister Cloud Strife, who works a very important position for the Shinra company. Roxas was put into his care when it was found that his father and mother had been abusing him. He refuses to tell anyone what happened, though I daresay it's beyond his capabilities at this point."

He shakes his head sadly, a grave look on his sharp, English features. "The boy seems to have no perception of what is right and wrong, and seems to confuse doctors with his parents..." Larxene lays her head on her brotherуs shoulder this time, their golden hair mixing together.

I have to fight to stay focused on this Roxas kid's tragic story and not on...Other...Nicer things.

"He's certainly going to be a hard nut to crack." I say, clearing my throat.  
Larxene's too-big grin is back. "Thaaaaat's right, Ax', babe..." she coos. "An' guess what?" I feel the bottom of my stomach drop out, because I know what's coming.

"He's all _**YOURS**_."


	2. Author's Note!

Okay guys, I am so SUPER, SUPER sorry that this hasn't been updated for anyone who's reading it.

My family moved to Germany, and then a whole maelstrom of personal drama started up. There should be a chapter up fairly soon (you ought to have it by Christmas, if life doesn't royally screw me)!

I love you guys, and am writing a new chapter as you read!


	3. Chapter 2, Part 1:We Were Meant to Live

Hello, there, dearies!

I'e decided to break up chapters into digestible slices, so that you won't toss your visual cookies from reading them.

This part goes a little further into Axel's personal life, and that of his best friend, Demyx, and their incredibly complicated relationship (though this one part barely scratches the surface).

Warnings: Kisses and implied sexual favours between two men; violent outbursts.

Disclaimer: This is not intended for those without a mature, open mind. I do not own, have never owned, and do not claim legitimacy (that my stories are canon) for any of the following characters.

Please remember that feedback is appreciated!

* * *

Chapter 2, Part 1- We Were Meant to Live

* * *

"My life sucks."

Pluck.

"Your life sucks not."

Pluck.

"My life sucks."

Pluck.

"You're life is actually pretty great."

Pluck.

"My life su-"

Demyx wrenches the daisy I had in my hands and stomps it into the ground with his well-polished, gold-painted heel, the crushing force twists and tears the delicate stem and petals into one unappealing smudge of chlorophyll and dirt. He turns his head back up to me, his perfectly practiced puppy grin back in place. I've been the only person to ever see behind the outward glee and gaze into the relentless malice that Demyx de Agua has for this world.

"What, may I ask, has driven you to such depression?" he asks me, his voice threatening (well, threatening once you learn to peel away the layers of sugar he coats it in). He takes my face in his hands, now walking backwards through the garden, leading me blindly.

"Woxthath." I mutter out of mashed-together lips.

Demyx's eyes sparkle with curiosity as he lets go, quickly dragging me to the side and shoving me against the trunk of a craggly-looking weeping willow.

"New patient?" He pauses when I don't respond. "New LOVER, then?"

There is a dangerous edge to his voice, and I find myself waving my hands to signify that it is anything BUT that. I'm not scared of many things in this world, but I've learned that you don't piss off someone from the de Agua lineage. They have a very, very nasty habit of helping people disappear, whether they like it or not. If you catch my drift.

(And I've seen Demyx fight before. I can run, but without the help of then bottles of chloroform and a lighter, I don't have a snowman's chance in hell.)

So I follow up my hand gestures with a fervent "No! No...New patient."

He looks at me incredulously, and it takes a further five minutes of convincing him that there is absolutely nothing going on between Roxas and I.

The dark blonde tugs me down with a strength that few have ever had the displeasure of bearing witness to. Most of them because they were having their faces rearranged by a pissed off lunatic that looked like he was trying to catch butterflies rather than give them all permanent beauty marks.

"Spill." he commands, all pretense of his cheerful-idiocy erased.

I sigh and begin:

"It happened this morning. I was supposed to do a mental evaluation of Roxas Strife so that I could figure out how to go about treating his...Illness...

IllnessES, begging your pardon.

"Anyways, so I went into his room right? And he's sitting there on the floor, talking in this really tender way to himself- It sounds like he has two fucking voices or something, I swear to the holy mother in heaven, man. So I go up to 'im and try to get his attention, and he's babbling so fast and in such an emotional way that I can't understand or get through to him. "

Demyx nods, and I can see the cogs working in his mind, via his eyes- like how you KNOW that there's tons and tons of creatures in the sea that you'll never even see, but you know it's there, because...Well.

BECAUSE, okay?!

"What happened then?"

"Then, I nudged him, and he sort of made this keening noise, like a dog makes if you kick it, but it's too weak to fight back or growl. So I nudge him again, and he kind of stands up this time, swaying back and forth. And I can tell that he really wants to move his arms beneath that straight jacket, because they're twitching right in front of me, right?

What happened then is that I waved my hand in front of him, and he stared at it blankly for, like, thirteen seconds before he sways up to me and k-"

I stop short, but Demyx is unabashed about filling in the blank.

"He kissed you."

"Y-yeah. Well, I kind of jumped, and he knocked me back and knelt over me, and kissed me again, still murmuring. He said something about being the 'lesser half' and kept saying he was sorry, REALLY sorry, and trying to kiss me. I pushed him off anyways, and uh... I hit him.

Don't you look at me like that, de Agua, you've done worse, and you bloody well know it-" he shrugs with a noncommittal smirk "- but anyways, he just fell back, and looked up at me in this heartbreaking way, like he'd just lost his best friend or something. I swear something re-broke in that kid. Seriously. And he went real quiet, and wouldn't talk after that, so I had to leave."

Demyx sits back on his heels as I finish my story lamely.

He looks heavenward.

"Was he pretty?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, as far as mental cases g-OI!" I punch him on the shoulder.

It would be a big no-no if he weren't my best friend, but as he is, I am exempt from scorn at this playful gesture, and my face stays in its natural alignment.

"Whatever, oh princess of the flaming queers." Demyx laughs, popping up. His mask flies back on when he notices a nurse, Zexion, walking through the garden, pouring over a book in a language that I'll never be able to read.

"Don't you mean 'Queen'?" I ask him briefly, which allows him to snicker.

"You're not fierce enough to be a queen, love!"

I'd yell at him, but my friend is already ten feet away, chatting up Zexion.

I can't hear what they're saying, but I get a rough read from their faces- Zexion's, at least. Demyx's puppy routine doesn't fool our little bookworm, oh no. I can see him backing away unconsciously, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, paler than he normally is (which is saying a lot. I think that making him walk outside for an hour like our boss commands every day could be justifiably settled in court as cruel and unusual punishment). I've got twenty pounds to any man who'd be willing to say that the poor little nurse wasn't about two steps away from making a bolt for it.

But Demyx leans closer, taking Zexion by the waist, brushing the purple hair from his eyes. I know that he's making a comment about their extraordinary silvery-blue. Probably something like 'The rain catches in your eyes, though the sun shines upon you...How exquisite.', because Demyx is so rich that he basically worries about poetry, parties, and killing people that wear frock coats he doesn't care for.

Their faces come closer, and my palms go sweaty.

Why?

Because they lean their heads just-so, and their eyes shut, and the ground falls out from beneath me, because Demyx is kissing him, and Zexion is kissing Demyx back, and- Jesus Christ on a crutch, this shouldn't be HAPPENING.

As that thought screams out in my mind, I think that some sort of warning bells go off, because Zexion makes a strangled little yelling noise and slaps Demyx, and then yells something in a language that I'll never be able to SPEAK, let alone read, and I see, for a split second, a look of anguish and pain glide over Demyx's painfully beautiful face. It's sliding back into a mask of unperturbed happiness as he walks back over to me.

I open my mouth to say something, but shut it when he looks at me, all the pain and anger there ever was in the world flowing like a rip current in his eyes.

There's a moment of silence before he suddenly jerks back his arm and punches the weeping willow.

Suddenly, I have to jump to the side, because the splintering wood flies everywhere like bullets, and the thin-but-thick tree falls back onto the ground, bark stripped away at the point of impact.

Demyx stands there for a few moments, his hand in the air (with splinters hanging out of his knuckles, mind you). He sighs, rubs his face, and then pops back up and smiles in an extra-freakishly-mental way to me, nigh blinding me with his smile ('nigh'...See? Just hanging out with poets makes you start using retarded words).

"Axel..." he leans towards me, lessening the smile a little to make the oh-god-don't-eat-me look disappear from my face, as I know it's there. "Let me spend the night with you."

I begin to protest, but he looks at me with the most worn-out expression, and it reminds me of Roxas.

In fact, I think Demyx is what happens if you DON'T treat cases like Roxas properly. They learn how to write poetry and become a Demyx.

"Please."

I sigh, caving. His voice is too broken for me to do anything but, because I know that him using it in such a public place can only mean that he actually needs to let something out, before it turns into violence.

After all...Demyx would do anything to avoid living up to the de Agua name and becoming a mob-boss, like his father.

"Fine. But I have to work with this new patient, so I might be gone until later on an-"

I look up and cringe.

His mischievous smirk is back in place, and the taint of impishness sparkles in his eyes again.

"Let me come with you."

"No."

"Pleaseeeee...?"

"NO."

"I'll do that thing you like."

My face heats up involuntarily.

"NO!"

Demyx slings an arm around me and brings our foreheads together, his eyes intently focused on mine.

"I'll do that thing you like AND smoke some opium with you."

I sigh heavily, knowing that he's not going to stop until he gets exactly what he wants. He's exactly like Luxord, his father.

And...

"You're exactly like my patient, you know that? You're an adult version."

Instead of being put off, he pulls me closer, giving me a sultry, almost comedic expression. I am acutely aware of every dip and curve of the body that's pressed up against me.

"Does that mean I'm pretty?"

"No..." I lie. His smirk grows.

"Does that mean I can kiss yooou?"

"NO."

"Oh, Axel..." he smirks, throwing me to the ground, right next to the shattered tree trunk.

Before I can catch my breath, he's straddling me again, that sultry smirk on his face, lips red and face flushed from his encounter with Zexion.

I realize that he's still hurting pretty badly underneath that expression. Just because I'm not caught in the rip tide doesn't mean it's gone.

With this thought, I realize that he needs to prove to himself that someone still wants him. In that moment, I realize that I could shatter him by just turning my head away.

It's such a sad thought that I don't turn when he kisses me.

I kiss him back, because in that moment, I know my duty as his friend. He needs this to prove that he has a reason for existing. Roxas probably has the same need.

The world is so lonely for people like them.

So we lay on the grass, limbs akimbo as the lazy afternoon sun beats down on us, bathing us both in a golden glow.

We lay there and kiss, and forget about our lives, and our pasts, and the bark fragments that are sticking into our bodies like we're pincushions.

Because in that moment, we know that we were meant to exist.


	4. Chapter 2, Part 2: Be Okay

Wow! Two updates in one night!

I might actually keep my promise and finish this chapter by Christmas! 8D

Same warnings and disclaimers apply.

In this chapter, we explore some of the other characters who will be very, very important to this story.

* * *

Chapter 2, Part 2: Be Okay.

* * *

Thrust.

Groan.

Thrust.

Groan.

Thrust-

A moan like no other flies from Cloud's lips as his body spasms against Zack's, and he feels the warm fluid trickle down his abdomen, a testimony to his ecstasy.

Zack cradles the smaller soldier in his arms, kissing him softly, hungrily, again and again and again. The blonde soon wraps around him, the scent of sex, sweat, and sandalwood incense engulfs both of their senses.

"I missed you so much..." he whispers breathlessly before he litters Cloud's the soft, tawny skin of Cloud's thin neck with long-repressed kisses.

The man strokes Zack's coarse black hair, smiling in the smallest way. But his eyes are warmer than any fire, and Zack knows that that counts more.

"I missed you, too, Zack...It took so long to get back from Japan..." At this, Zack smiles. "I told you you could sleep with someone else if it would help..."

Cloud frowns softly, an indignant look on his face.

"I would neve-" He is cut off by another kiss from Zack, who offers him a boyish smile when his pink lips curl up in mirth, blue-green eyes like the pristine waters of the ports that Cloud had just sailed from sparkling and shining and all for him. The tiny smile finds its way across his features again. "I know you wouldn't. That's why I said you could." Zack teases, and they kiss once more before laying there, bodies stuck together as if they were welded that way from birth.

"Well, Mister Strife..." Zack finally ventures, stroking his lover's cheek softly, as though he were a porcelain doll, and not a heartless mercenary. "...How did the Japanese respond to a Japanese man with blonde hair and blue eyes? Who spoke English?"

Cloud touches his hand gently, lacing their fingers together. Zack can feel him swallow hard, and he knows that he shouldn't have asked.

"They were...Polite. As ever."

"They also treated you like a demon, as ever." Zack surmises bitterly.

Cloud turns to him with a pained expression, eyes glazed with tears. "I'm almost glad that Roxas is insane, Zack. He'll never have to see...Them..."

"Their eyes..."

A heavy silence falls over the two, and they gaze at each other for what seems like an eternity. Zack knows why.

Cloud had accepted the assignment wanting to believe that there would be some sort of people, somewhere, that would accept him as he was. To accept him for himself, instead of the colours and patterns and shapes of his body. That he had spent so many nights with men who looked upon him as an exotic flower and nothing more in his youth, been shunned by his family, and could only find work as a mercenary for the Shinra had already beaten down Cloud's self-worth image so thoroughly that he would hardly look most people who weren't mutts like him in the eye.

Even the immigrants who lived in the slums would turn their noses up at him.

So Zack holds Cloud tightly, and waits until the smaller man- the man that has shed so much blood, sweat, and saline to defend his comrades and country- stops shaking uncontrollably. For a moment, he imagines that Cloud is only sleeping, but looks down and sees the listless expression and vacant eyes, and Zack knows that Cloud is far away from him. There are no kisses, no words- no caresses that will bring him back, and it frightens Zack.

He knows that, one day, his beautiful doll will get stuck that way, like his brother. Zack doesn't know if he could take that.

He doesn't know if he's strong enough to live without Cloud.

The soldier hugs his lover closer, whispering sweet nothings and holding him in comfort as long as he can. Cloud must report in tomorrow. Zack must be there with him.

He falls asleep with a prayer on his lips that Cloud will be okay.

* * *

As it turns out, Cloud is the one who is acutely alert the next day, fidgeting and fussing over Zack's appearance, over his own appearance, and over the meeting they'd have that day. Zack curls his lip and pouts in a very childish fashion, complete with the crossing of his arms. He didn't see why meeting with Sephiroth was supposed to be such a big deal. His big brother, Angeal, was one of Sephiroth's best friends.

Zack had been raised with Sephiroth's little brothers!

So, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was making Cloud so anxious to please him.

"Cloud, I doubt Sephiroth really cares if you have a single spike out of place." Cloud goes still at the mirror, and Zack is disturbed.

For a moment, he catches the haunted expression on Cloud's face, but it is soon gone, replaced by the obsessive focus on his hair again. It finally dawns on Zack that all the preening is Cloud's way of relieving stress. His way for trying his damnedest to fit in.

So Zack holds Cloud, who goes stiff in his arms, body rigid and cool from the morning air.

"Cloud...You're so beautiful that nothing you could do would ever enhance it. Ever."

But those words- so well intended!- make Cloud even more tense, and he steps out of Zack's grip forcefully enough for it to really, truly hurt.

"Fuck!" the soldier hisses. "What the hell was that f-"

Zack is cut off by Cloud's piercing stare. He loses his tongue entirely. No words had to be said.

He knew.

"I'll be out in the carriage." Cloud tells him in a tone that was born of a blizzard. Zack flinches, ashamed of himself for speaking so rashly.

He can never, he remembers, make Cloud see how valuable he really was.

With a heavy sigh, Zack dons his sword and walks outside, to share a very uncomfortable carriage ride with his lover.

* * *

Now, in this room, Zack can see clearly why Cloud was nervous.

As he delivers his report in that soft, warm-cotton voice that Cloud was infamous for, Zack can see Sephiroth's eyes. And everything else.

The way he turns his glass this way and that absently, his eyes focused on the speaker, his mind on something else entirely. Something quite different from the report that 'Mister Strife' (as Sephiroth had insisted on calling him throughout the meeting).

Everything Sephiroth is doing now is meant to have some sexual hint, some sort of undertone- his gaze is stripping enough that Cloud loses his place in a stammer yet again. He apologizes quickly, gazing at the floor, and Sephiroth tells him to continue (again) in the silky, throaty tone that he's been using this entire meeting.

Yes, Zack feels stupid.

For a split second, he thinks of how Cloud is blushing. How haunted his eyes had been that morning. Was it possible that they...?

Zack shakes his head lightly,and blinks a few times. Now shame sets in again.

Of course Cloud wouldn't do that- he didn't have the moxy to look Sephiroth in the eye the first time he met him, much less try to court him to bed. Besides that, Sephiroth was too beautiful for even most women to take a crack at courting, much less someone with severe self esteem issues like Cloud.

No, if there were anything wrong, it would be Sephiroth who initiated it.

Sephiroth's eyes flick to Zack, and for a moment, Zack can see the brazen satisfaction in them. It's infuriating.

In that quick little glance, the silver-haired man tells Zack that Cloud jumps when he snaps his fingers- like Zack does when Angeal snaps his. He tells him that Cloud is his, if he so chooses.

For a moment, he imagines that Sephiroth is, perhaps, not saying these things.

But as the two continue to stare at each other, Sephiroth discreetly mouths three words, almost unnoticable to anyone around the table but them. To Zack, they're like fire against the night sky.

_"He is mine."_


	5. Breathe In, Breathe Out

Author's Note: This should be the last of the switching-to-new-view-points bit. It should alternately be between Zexion, Axel, Roxas and the third person that takes care of Cloud and the rest of the gang. On very rare occasions, you might see it flip to someone else, but those instances would be very rare.

(I'm very excited, because we're about to move into the GOOD stuff~)

Enjoy!

-------------------

A blonde man sits in the hallway anxiously. He turns his head from side to side, now resting it in the palm of this hand, and then the other. Occasionally, he sighs, and then blinks a few times, and then sighs again, his brows knitting together to mar his too-pretty face in unnatural creases and crinkles.

I wonder for a few seconds if I should say something to him, but the thought is gone as quickly as it's come. People like that just don't talk to people like me. It's one of the unspoken rules of the world. Beautiful people ignore the ugly ones. What good do those wrapped in all the gemmed hues of the world have to say to someone who's literally nothing but gray.

It's my turn to sigh in frustration, as I rub my temples.

De Agua really shouldn't have affected me this badly, I know…but the man sitting there so beautifully flustered reminds me of him in ways that make me squirm.

And I have to cross the hallway sooner or later, after all.

'Excuse me.'

I tense (I'm sure it's visible to the stranger), and look at the floor in front of him. I don't want to look at his face and I don't want to see his eyes. I don't want him to see how perfectly stupid talking to other people makes me. 'Excuse me?' he says again, only this time, he's asking. I feel his hand touch the cloth of my coat and only realize a second later that I'm up against the cold stone of the ward walls. I wish that my gray would just blend in with its gray and I could disappear.

No such luck.

'I, uh…Are you alright?'

I nod mutely. Stupidly. The other man doesn't know what to do, but I can see from the way he holds his feet and the clenching and unclenching of his gloved hands that he really needs to ask his question.

'Um…'

'That's not correct sentence structure.' Says a voice that I realize-to my horror- is my own. The man takes a swaying step back and then laughs, gut releasing its tension. I release a breath I didn't know that I was holding in, and smile only a little. I am, after all, smiling at the floor, and I don't want this man to think I'm completely mad by laughing at it.

'My apologies.' He says, his voice considerably lighter. He holds out his hand. I gingerly slide the tips of my fingers onto the palm of his black leather glove, but he shakes the whole thing with an enthused, vice-like grip. I try very desperately not to wince. 'I'm Cloud Strife.' He announces. 'I was here to see Roxas…My apologies for the late hour, but I was caught up in some work…'

He begins a ramble, which he doesn't seem keen on explaining, probably because he's nervous about his day as well. I can see it in the way he rocks on his feet, rubs at his wrists, and I can hear it in his voice- the way it gets quiet when he mentions any person whatsoever.

'…In any case, do you think I could see him now?' he asks. I don't have to look at his face to see that he's biting his lips.

'You have to get clearance with Marluxia.' I tell him. I can feel my nerves spasm in my arms and legs, and I really just want him to go away. 'But Marluxia has left for the evening.' His frame sags a little.

'O-oh.'

'Would you like me to set up an appointment for next week, sir?'

'Oh, yes. That would be alright, I suppose…' he's really horrible at hiding his emotions. Then again, I don't suppose it's important for beautiful people to do so.

'Would you like me to tell him that you were here?' I ask, and his entire figure goes straight again. As odd as it is to say from someone who focuses on people's feet, he emanates radiance.

'Yes, thank you! That would be wonderful!' he grabs my hand to shake it again, and in a flurry of words and sunlight and something more, the beautiful man is gone, like a…

'Like a cloud on the wind…' I murmur softly to myself as the room goes black.

* * *

'It looks like you're up.'

I recognize Doctor Vexen's crisp voice from somewhere around me, and turn my head towards it. The sunlight filtering through his window almost blinds me in its unapologetic radiance. He laughs lightly, and my focusing eyes sense smoke pluming from his mouth in neat swirling whorls.

'You gave me a bit of a scare, you know.' He says to me, and I feel his hand on my forehead. It's rough and calloused, but colder than ice itself. It sounds odd, but it's soothing, in its own way. I mumble an apology, but he only strokes my hair and chuckles again.

'It's no problem, Zexion. You know it's not.' I close my eyes, but he pulls me up and forces my limp body into a sitting position. It takes a few moments before I realize that he's put me in his own bed. Before I have time to get flustered, he shoves a glass to my lips. 'Drink.' He commands, and I do. Every last bitter, sulfuric, acidic drop, until he's satisfied and pulls the glass away.

He sits down beside me, and I can tell just from his posture that he's looking at me with a strong degree of reproach. 'Zexion. You need to look at me if we're going to speak.'

'I am looking at you.'

'You know what I mean.' He says. Coming from anyone else, it would be cross, but Vexen is collected. I've never seen anyone but Marluxia be able to rile him up. I look up at him incrementally- I would be tense, but I suspect that concoction has prevented just that side effect. First his hand and up his arms, to his neck and then his chin. He's very well constructed. Very symmetrical.

My eyes flick to his hair, but he clicks his tongue, and I squeamishly look over his cheekbones and –finally- into his green eyes.

'You need to get over this, Zexion.' He says to me softly. My hand meets his face, unblemished and rosy cheeked as ever. It's as cold as his hands. As cold as ice, and just as perfect. White as snow. The texture is so soft. My eyes begin to lose focus the longer I stare.

'You're so beautiful.' I whisper. Something warm is on my face.

'Zexion, the world is full of people more beautiful than I. If you would just get over the delusion that they're better than you-'

'They are.' I say quietly, closing my eyes. It hurts to look at beautiful things. His face pulls into a frown. He sighs heavily.

'I didn't want it to come to this. I'll tell you that now.' He says, and I open my eyes to gaze at the spot of window behind him. I count the veins in the leaves of ivy that creep across it as he talks, my hand still on his face for emotional recognition.

'Mostly because it was Marluxia's idea, but also because I didn't want to force you into it.' He takes a drag of his pipe and releases the coils of perfumed smoke across my vision, breaking my concentration.

'You're going to be helping Axel with the patient Roxas Strife, as of today.'


End file.
